"You were gone;--you had borne with you the object of my devotion;
but the passion remained and burnt with no less frenzy than before.
You were not blind to the effect of this frenzy upon my health and
constitution. You saw that I was consuming with a nameless disease.
Perhaps you knew the cause and the name, and your departure may
have been prompted by a sentiment of pity for myself, in addition
to that which you felt for my unhappy parents. If this be so--and
it seems probable--it adds something to the agony of life--it will
assist me in the work of atonement--it will better reconcile me to
the momentary struggle of death.
"My ill health increased with the absence of the only object for
whom health was now desirable. To see her again--to the last--for
I now knew that that last could not be very remote--was the great
desire of my mind. Besides, strange to say, a latent hope was
continually rising and trembling in my soul. I still fancied that
I had a place in the affections of your wife. You will naturally
ask on what this hope was founded. I answer, on the supposition
that she had concealed from you the truth on the subject of my
presumptuous assault upon her; and on those words of warning by
which she had counselled me to fly from your pursuit on that last
night before you left the city. These may not be very good reasons
for such a hope, but the faith of the devotee needs but slight
supply of aliment; and the fanaticism of a flame like mine needs
even less. A whisper, a look, a smile--nay, even a frown--has many
a time prompted stronger convictions than this, in wiser heads,
and firmer hearts than mine.
"My father counselled me to travel, and I was only too glad to obey
his suggestions. He prescribed the route, but I deceived him. Once
on the road, I knew but one route that could do me good, or at least
afford me pleasure. I pursued the object of my long devotion. Here
your conduct again led me astray. I found you still neglectful of
your wife. Still, you received me as if I had been a brother, and
thus convinced me that Julia had kept my secret. In keeping it
thus long I now fancied it had become hers. I renewed my devotions,
but with as little profit as before. She maintained the most rigid
distance, and I grew nervous and feeble in consequence of the
protracted homage which I paid, and the excitement which followed
from this homage. You had a proof of this nervousness and excitement
in the incident which occurred while crossing the stream let.
I extended her my hand to assist her over, and scarcely had her
fingers touched mine, when I felt a convulsion, and sunk, fainting
and hopelessly into the stream. [Footnote: An incident somewhat
similar to this occurs in the Life of Petrarch, as given by Mrs.
Dobson, but the precise facts are not remembered, and I have not the
volume by me] Conscious of nothing besides, I was yet conscious of
her screams. This tender interest in my fate increased my madness.
It led to a subsequent exhibition of it which at length fully opened
my eyes to the enormity of my offence.